


Shopping

by MintJam



Series: Thoughts, asks, headcanons and ficlets [5]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, M/M, Shopping, Sulking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:33:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24927004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintJam/pseuds/MintJam
Summary: This is an outtake or missing scene from my longer one shot, FIGHT.'The disastrous shopping trip' that was referred to and has since been asked about.Although I'm sure this works as a one-shot.Thanks to the anon on Tumblr who asked for more on this!
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Series: Thoughts, asks, headcanons and ficlets [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540363
Comments: 16
Kudos: 96





	Shopping

"Ninety-five fucking quid?" Alfie says, with no attempt to hide the incredulity in his voice.

"They are hand-stitched, with real leather-soles, Sir," confirms the rather snooty-looking assistant. Alfie doesn't miss the way she tilts her head back slightly as she glances through her stupidly tiny spectacles to give him a quick once-over. It makes his eye twitch.

"Don't change the fact they're for a seven year old, does it?"

"The school has a very strict uniform policy," Tommy says, glaring at Alfie with a look that clearly says _shut the fuck up_.

The assistant turns her attention away from Alfie as if his mere existence, let alone presence in this shop, offends her. Perhaps he is a little under-dressed for one of the most exclusive shopping streets in London, but when Tommy had said _shopping for school shoes_ , he had imagined a quick trip to the local Clarks followed by a leisurely lunch, not getting off the tube at Bond street and dealing with all these wankers. 

"How do these feel?" the assistant asks, prodding Charlie's toes through the unforgiving leather.

"Hard," Charlie says. He's wearing a pout that could match his father's. Alfie really can't blame him, this is the fourth pair he's tried on and each looks uglier and more uncomfortable than the last.

"Well, I'm afraid these are the last of the styles accepted at St Christian's," the assistant says to Tommy. "They will soften up with wear," she adds. "We sell an excellent leather conditioner that will make them more supple in no time."

"I bet you fuckin' do," Alfie mutters.

Fifteen minutes later they're back on the sunny flagstones of South Molton Street, bumping through the crowds.

"Daylight robbery," Alfie mutters. "No need to worry 'bout pickpockets round 'ere. Just head into a shop."

"No one's going to pickpocket you, Alfie," Tommy says with a sly smirk.

"Well, no, that's on account of my clear physical superiority, innit?"

"It's on account of the fact you look like a bloody vagrant."

"Oh, right. Well that's charming, innit?" Alfie looks to Charlie for some moral support. "A man gives up his Saturday to assist a young lad in the soul-destroying task of shopping ... and this ... _this_ is the thanks he gets."

"Best not take that cap off," Tommy continues, "someone might throw a few coins in it."

"You're very lucky young Charlie is here," Alfie says, sliding his sunglasses on, "or I'd take this cap off and teach you a thing or two." He slips his fingers into his pockets after that and decides to sulk for a bit. Just to show Tommy he doesn't care. His attempts at awkward silence are somewhat hampered by the presence of a seven year old.

"Can we go for lunch now, Dad?" Charlie asks.

Tommy looks at his wrist. "It's only half-eleven."

"But I'm hungry," Charlie whines.

"You're always hungry," Tommy says. "We'll go for a burger in a bit. I just want to nip into a shop round the corner first."

' _Round the corner_ ' turns out to be a euphemism for around several corners, down Regent Street and off another side alley that stinks of cash and snobbery. Alfie is as disgruntled as Charlie by the time they get there. Only he can't say anything, can he, because he's fucking sulking, right? Not that Tommy seems to have even noticed.

"I just want to get some new jeans. Ada threw wine on my other pair."

"Dad you have loads of pairs," Charlie moans. "Just wear some of the others."

"But they were my best pair. Look, we're here now. It won't take long."

"It will," Charlie says, kicking his feet and looking to Alfie for back-up. "He'll take ages. I bet you don't have hundreds of pairs do you?"

"No," says Alfie, seizing the opportunity to make a point. "I hate jeans." That's not entirely true. He likes looking at jeans. Particularly on certain people. Certain people who have a penchant for wearing them tight with a neat-fitting shirt and a good belt. But wearing them himself? That is another matter entirely.

"No one needs more than one pair of jeans" he says with a defiant glare at Tommy.

"Exactly!" Charlie looks to his dad as if this proves the point and starts to walk off down the street.

"One pair of jeans.. Are you serious?" Tommy says.

Oh fucking brilliant. That back-fired didn't it? Alfie looks down at his baggy joggers, at the way one waist-tie is dangling past his knee whilst the other is barely poking out of the waist band. He pulls at it to even them out.

"Some of us appreciate comfort, Thomas."

"Some of us appreciate style.”

Alfie looks up at the Japanese sign over the distinctly unwelcoming shop. Everything inside is white and shiny, like some sort of clinic. In the centre of the almost-empty space is a long thin table, with nothing but neat piles of folded denim. Alfie would rather be walking into an _actual_ clinic now, one where they stab you with needles, but the second Tommy crosses the shop's threshold there's an assistant at his side who looks like something out of a k-pop video; he wastes no time in eyeing Tommy up. Alfie takes a deep breath and walks in, shouting for Charlie to come back.

Once inside the awful place Tommy unlocks his phone and hands it to his son, "you can play on the games until I'm done," he says, nodding to the one chair in the corner. 

“This isn’t a good sign,” he whispers to Alfie.

"No YouTube, understood?" 

Charlie nods and looks appeased. 

"Right, so that's him sorted, how about me?" Alfie asks.

"You’re coming over here," Tommy says in a voice that is not to be messed with.

"Can I recommend something I think would really suit your physique?" the assistant says.

"I usually wear the six-twenties," Tommy answers.

"Ah, yes. But I think that you're going to love these." K-pop boy stands back to get a good eyeful of Tommy's arse, one finger poised on his lower lip as if he's posing for a selfie. "30 inch waist, yes?"

"Yes," Tommy answers, but the kid is already flapping out a pair of small blue jeans from the table. He picks up three more pairs in barely-distinguishable shades of blue, and takes them to a small curtained-off area at the back that is meant to pass, Alfie supposes, for a changing room. He can't help but scan it for video-cameras.

"And my friend, here, would like something smart," Tommy says.

Alfie bristles. At everything. At being called a friend (not that he's sure how else Tommy should describe him); at being bullied into trying jeans; at the implication there is anything about this whole experience that he would _like_. At the suggestion he needs to smarten up. He is, in fact, so busy bristling that he doesn't notice the assistant walk over and place both hands on his waist. Then his hips. Then his arse.

"Sorry," says k-pop. "It's just so hard to tell your size with these ... baggy ..." he doesn't bother to finish the sentence, just sneers at Alfie's green tracksuit-bottoms. "Thirty-four maybe. Bear with me. I'll have to check out the back for that size."

Alfie glares at Tommy and snarls like a terrier. Tommy has the gumption to smile.

Ten minutes later they are both in the tiny changing room and the tables have most-decidedly turned. Alfie is staring at his reflection thinking that, okay, these jeans aren't bad. No, they are not as comfortable as his trackies but yes, he did appreciate the look of approval on Tommy's face when he pulled them on. He scrubs up alright when he wants to. Perhaps he could make an effort once in a while — if only to see that glint of mischief in Tommy's oh-so-serious eyes.

Tommy, on the other hand, far from looking smug, now has a face like thunder. A full-blown cyclone even. Because those beloved 'six-twenties' he came in for are looking rather tight on his thighs. So tight, in fact, that when he's managed to button the fly they look decidedly obscene. It's Alfie's turn to smile. He's just thinking how much he likes the look when k-pop peers around the curtain and plants his greedy little eyes on Tommy's bulge. Okay, maybe not.

"Have you changed the cut?" Tommy asks.

"Would you like to try the 32?" k-pop purrs. 

"No," Tommy says.

"The six-thirties have a more generous fit on the upper leg," he offers.

"No thank you," Tommy repeats. His voice is clipped enough to make k-pop retreat, which leaves Alfie to stare in the mirror.

"All that gym time has certainly strengthened your legs," Alfie smirks.

"This is your bloody fault."

"I certainly hope so, sweetie." Alfie can't help but laugh at the sight of Tommy fighting his way out of the denim. "Bit of muscle suits you."

"Fuck off," Tommy replies. The pout that his son wore earlier is now plastered on Tommy's face. It makes Alfie want to kiss him.

"I've always appreciated a thicker thigh. Looks like all those squats have paid off, don't it?" he continues, ignoring the furious flush now spreading across Tommy's cheeks.

"If you've had me do those on purpose, Solomons ... I'll ..."

"Yeah? You'll what? High kick me with those well-developed quads?"

Tommy is too busy wrestling the denim from his ankles to answer.

"Bring me down with a scissor hold? Perhaps k-pop's got some larger sizes out the back you could try."

"Who?"

Alfie just winks.

Tommy refuses to buy anything after that. Alfie walks out wearing his jeans, which cost four times what he’d usually spend, just to be annoying.

"You look good," Charlie says. Smart kid, that one. "But why didn't you buy anything, Daddy?" Maybe not so smart.

"You're dad's a bit peckish, isn't he now?” Alfie says, feeling, inexplicably, like he should come to Tommy’s defence. “Let's go grab a burger."

Charlie is delighted. They head for a gourmet burger joint where Alfie proceeds to order the works: burgers, milkshakes, fries, extra cheese. He and Charlie stuff themselves, while Tommy refuses to take more than two bites.

"Cheer up, it's only denim," Alfie offers.

"M'fine," Tommy mumbles, and orders a beer. Alfie, is left to make conversation with Charlie.

Alfie learns that day that Tommy does everything with conviction — even sulking — he can keep it up for hours. And perhaps Alfie shouldn't have insisted on visiting two more shops and buying himself a shirt. And a cashmere jumper (there's a reason Tommy wears those things, he now understands. They're fucking comfortable aren't they?) But Alfie is a man of conviction too. And it is his utmost conviction that Tommy's thighs are far better naked, and slung over his shoulders. Which he tells the idiot repeatedly. Until finally he decides that actions speak louder than words and fireman's lifts Tommy into his bedroom to prove his bloody point.

Alfie supposes he could put up with occasional shopping if it results in Tommy looking like this — cross and flustered and pink-cheeked — not entirely at odds with how he looked in the dressing room earlier. Good job he wasn't making these desperate little noises in the shop though, K-pop would probably have fainted. Turns out Tommy finds it hard to sulk when he's bent in half on his back. Which is information Alfie files away carefully, lest it should come in handy in future.

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't forgotten about the last chapter of Burnt. It's coming. I promise.


End file.
